sir-fenris

[sir-fenris]

Seems like I'm finally able to do a random art again, YAY :D, and it ended up way bloodier than I had imagined at first, but happens.

(Guess my previous offering for the Limbo Gods worked.)

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Just for safety, content warning for: blood, non-sexual semi-nudity, torture aftermath, bruises, burn injuries, and chained up by the wrists. Classic torture whump art.

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This Whumpee's first appearance :D. He can't say hi now, because he bites, so Whumper has to keep him with a mouth tape on :'(

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[sir-fenris]

Fun things about trauma bonds I learned in the cult

(Specifically talking about the bond between victims of the same abuse)

Content: real-life scenarios, ptsd, trauma bond, forced labor, doublethink, emotional repression

Feels like they are the only ones that could ever understand you

Having similar conditioned responses

Having similar extreme responses--things that should be just funny become choking-hazard hilarious, things that should get a chuckle get a synchronous shrug

On that note, often saying the exact same thing in the exact same tone

Specific things like whumper's tone of voice when they say a certain thing, would be a joke when they weren't there

Singing to cope with many hours of forced hard labor, immediately going silent when whumper entered

Talking about the trauma was OFF LIMITS, only code-speak that whumper couldn't understand could be used to warn each other

Only certain feelings were allowed to be shown because we had been conditioned that some feelings were "not safe"

Openly admitting to each other that it wasn't safe inside the house with whumper and then telling outsiders that we were totally safe and thinking we were telling the truth both times

All saying exactly the same lines to strangers (example "we are all wretches" *shrug*)

Married-couple-level nonverbal communication.

"do you want this extra food? I'll sneak it to you under the table." "Give it to [other victim]." "Watch out, whumper's looking." All happened nonverbally with eye and head movements right in front of whumper.

Working together seamlessly (or else!)

As soon as you leave the cult, the pressure that forced the bond in the first place, the trauma-bond relationship can fall apart

No good relationship ever feels as intense or close as the trauma bond, and you wonder what you're doing wrong. Till you realize you aren't panicking constantly--that's the main difference

[sir-fenris]

'Verse: Resistance, co-author @whump-sprite Alt: what if Taryn didn't hurt Ari?

My co-author probably wouldn't approve of this one because it contains character death and we don't usually go there buuuttt... I wrote it, and it's just a what-if, so here it is.

Execution

“Good morning, interrogator.”

She sits in the far corner of the cell, back to the wall. She had her knees up to her chest a second ago – probably sleeping. Anders only caught the end of the motion as she uncurled in response to the sound of the door.

Still trying to put up a facade of dignity. Her stare is flat and hostile. But her tousled hair and crumpled uniform give the lie to her composure. Anders remembers how she screamed. His smile is cold and hard. “Nothing to say to me?” She lifts a shoulder in a perfunctory shrug. “What is there to say?”

“We got Alex,” he tells her, just for the satisfaction of the burning, futile hatred in her eyes. “So thanks for that.” “Back for more?” Anders shakes his head. Mind magic is evil enough – even used on a monster like her – that however much else of value he might be able to wring out of her, he can’t justify it. The prison break was enough. Getting Alex back was enough.

Just the thought of Alex – the bone-deep bruises, the way he couldn’t look Anders in the eye – sets his blood boiling. It’s time to end this, before Anders does something he’ll regret.

The fed watches with the same quiet loathing as he draws the gun. She doesn’t try to beg or bargain for her life. She knows the score. He saw it in her thoughts – this is no surprise to her.

She still stiffens up as Anders lays a quick sweep of magic across her arms, pinning them to her sides so she can't make a grab for the gun as he steps closer. Anger can’t quite cover the fear in her, the way her eyes flick suspiciously from Anders’ face to the gun and back again, to the door behind him, to the corners of the room. She’s very still, perhaps not even breathing.

Does she imagine that he’ll press the muzzle to her gut before taking the killing shot? Her knees, her shoulders, her hips? Anders thinks she must, from the way the tension in her eases instead of heightening when he aims for the centre of her forehead. It’s what she’d do to him, no doubt.

He feels her test the strength of the magic holding her, then sees the calm acceptance settle into her eyes. “Any last words?” “No.”

The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space.

It’s a clean death, over in an instant. Better than she deserves, perhaps, but Anders is better than they are.

[sir-fenris]

me, seeing someone left me a comment: screaming, running around the room in circles, kicking my feet up in the air, jumping up and down, giggling to myself, squealing, wiggling, dancing around...

me, replying to someone's comment: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)

[sir-fenris]

Too much to talk about, so... :)

Despite being the ostensible host, Nora did not seem particularly interested in hosting.

Delta is experiencing a casual party for the first time :') Just thought that his reaction to things at the party made it clear how he was not used to party setting like this one at all.

He cracked a small smile. It was such a bitchy thing to say. He didn’t know where the impulse came from, but he wanted to indulge it. As a treat, sometimes. 

Her eyes widened with surprise, some mock-up of offense. For some reason, this annoyed him.

I never complained as much as you do.

It wasn’t fair.

She crossed the room to find him gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squinted in disgust. She caught only the tail end of it, but was surprised to hear just how much venom was in his tone. She’d never heard it from him. It was so hateful.

Anger is actually a very, very commum thing in recovery. Just as much as the conditioned and taught responses of meekness and obedience. When you're forced to accept unfair treatment for so long, one that caused so much distress and pain, you're bound to lash out when the opportunity comes. In this case, Delta being drunk (like in the Tundra chapter of Destroyer).

And when you had to supress all your natural reactions of unfainess, anger, etc, you feel like they are ugly, unwanted. It's a defense your brain creates to not indulge you to do it again, to avoid the pain that comes after. But while you're drunk? Those defenses grow weak, and like Delta said, he wanted to indulge that bitchness, because the emotion was there, and he was met with the opportunity to lash it out.

And his annoyance to what she said? It wasn't exactly a lie what he said, but that was not the reason why he said it. Yes, lots of people live in warzones and not complain about it as much as she does, but that's the thing about safety; you feel safe enough to complain, and to complain is normal. We can complain even about the meaningless things.

But Delta was never safe enough to complain, and it creates an even bigger feeling of unfairness; he suffered so, so much, and was never granted the basic right to complain openly about it, why can everyone else do it, for things he sees as meaningless to complain about?

So, the internalized view that to complain is wrong, is disgusting, is weak, and the beaten down feeling of unfair treatment, or fear and anger, is what makes Delta lash out towards this girl in specific. His defenses were weak because of the alcohol, his emotions were boiling up (especially since he is slowly feeling safer in a environment that doesn't punish him for them) and the perfect outlet was prompted in front of him.

“What? You’re gonna hit me for it?” He challenged. “You hit me for everything, it doesn’t even matter what I do. I don’t care. I don’t even care.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He snapped, then seemed to trip over himself. He braced his back against the wall for support as his hands fumbled by his waistband. He struggled with it. She realized with a start that he was attempting to peel his shirt off — though he was getting visibly frustrated with how little success he was having. 

Even when he's angry and lashing out, he still expects and accepts desproporcional punishments, because they were the norm, they were so normal and frequent in his life, that he doesn't fight back even when he's lashing out. He knows he is going to get punished, no matter how badly he tries to behave the way his abusers want him to, and when his defenses are down because of the alcohol, he let go of the meekness of trying to reduce the upcoming pain.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “Everyone else can do whatever they want. No one ever corrects them. No one cares if they hurt me. But the second I say anything back-“

Again. "Fairness." It's awful to repress your feelings for so long, to accept as a reality that certain things will cause pain, to learn to many mechanisms to reduce pain and distress, to always live in a constant state of paranoia and stress... and then see people living their lifes without a worry, without a single one of those mechanisms.

And then you feel and internalize the thought that you are the one in the wrong, that you are out of their circle, that your mechanisms are for nothing or are unfair. If you never did anything to deserve this, then why are you the only one being punished for everything? Why are you the only one having to learn mechanisms just to survive and postpone the pain a little?

But she didn’t touch him. He could tell she wanted to — it was weird for her not to — but she was holding herself back. Her eyes searched him instead.

👏Internalized thoughts👏 turn into👏 projection👏

He winced. It was a familiar question. He answered immediately.

“I was disrespectful.” The safest option, always, the most broadly applicable. “To you. To everyone. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“ -I’m not allowed to- “—talked to you like that.”

She sighed. His heart sunk to see she was not pleased with that answer.

👏Internalized thoughts👏 turn into👏 projection👏 ×2

Again, he is so, so used to the way things were. Used to be told he was disrespectful as a reason to be punished, even when most of what he did was simply defend himself. So used to having to say why he was sorry, even if it meant just making his abuser pleased to hear his meekness and obedience.

And when Kitty didn't respond in the way his egocentric abusers responded, he was on edge, he was afraid of displeasing someone that could hurt him, that had "the right" to do so. As if any other reaction other than being pleased with him meant pain, because that's how things always were with him and others.

He only got up when she encouraged him to, ushering him back onto the mattress instead of on the carpet. He only did it because she told him to. He didn’t feel right about it. It didn’t feel fair. There was little he could do to ward the guilt from his demeanor. His own body language had turned sulky, the way it did when he’d been punished, or when he expected to be. 

I always think it's very interesting how Delta can conceive so many things through his body language. How good he became in showing others what needs to be shown to protect himself, even when he wasn't given the opportunity to speak up his defense. How good he became in showing things as much as he became good at hiding them.

He didn’t like to. He tried hard not to think about it at all — even though it always burned in his brain. Even if he thought of it every night. He still went mute at each opportunity.

But he’d speak if she wanted him to. If he owed it to her, which he knew he did.

"Owe it to her". The thought that wrongdoings can only be forgiven by suffering, emotional or physical, from his side is a very sad taught behavior. So is the thought of needing to repay someone for any kindness, from fear of losing that kindness if the other person is displeased with him.

It comes naturally to people-please when that's the only way to stop feeling like you're about to be hurt or abandoned.

It was arguably one of the more justified punishments he’d be given. He really had talked back in an awful way; he didn’t resent Paris for it. The opposite, really. That was why it had hurt so badly at the time, the same reason it hurt so bad now. He was sorry. He’d deserved it. 

:'( It was not justified at all. I think this is about Tundra, and if it is, then it was not justified at all. Paris had provoked him, again and again, pushed against Delta's warnings, he had started the fight. Delta simply answered back, and then Paris got pissy because his provoking actually succeeded.

Whipping someone until they bleed and make them stay on display for hours, without speaking or doing anything but feel the pain and stares, is NOT by far reasonable for talking back.

But well. Considering all the punishments Delta received, even this fucked up punishment can be called "more justified". Especially when Delta truly believes that speaking up his mind and having emotions are such awful things.

He didn’t even need to be hit. He’d have done anything. Starved. Held still, let himself be chained until his muscles ached. But she wasn’t even yelling. He’d upset her again with the question, but she wasn’t punishing him for it. He felt a strange sense of absence. She did not let him dwell on it.

The expectation to be hurt sometimes is worse than actually being hurt. And when you're taught again and again that wrongdoings can only be repayed with harsh punishments, and that you're only "safe" from the pain after it's been delivered...

... Not receiving that harsh punishment can be weird, can feel like the absense of something that was supposed to happen, something that needs to happen in order to make things "okay" again. In order to feel like he payed hus wrongdoings, and now is safe from the pain and guilt.

Thankfully, Kitty didn't let him dwell on it.

He blinked. Was that it? He’d been prepared to get onto the floor and grovel for it, but she’d given it like it was nothing. Delta glanced sideways at Kitty for confirmation. She squeezed lightly at his arm in reassurance. 

Ouch :'). Yeah, forgiveness doesn't have to be earned with suffering or humiliation, it can be just given. But the people Delta always searched forgiveness from were egocentric, that didn't see him as a person, that wanted suffering and humiliation in orther to make themselves feel more powerful.

Forgiveness can be just given, Delta :')

The soup came out shortly after. The broth was clear and aromatic. He poked at it idly, still self conscious about his own feeding, his mind still fixated on denial and absolution. But Kitty looked sad when he did not eat and even Nora seemed to raise an eyebrow in concern, so that he had no choice but to indulge them. 

If no one is punishing him the way he is "supposed" to be punished, his mind will try to make him punish himself. Starvation is actually a very, VERY commum way of self-punishment, of trying to feel like things have the closure they're "supposed" to.

Obviously, not healthy. Glad he ate, even if it was to indulge them. He didn't deserve to starve, and there is no reason to punish himself. It's simply cruel to torture yourself to feel like you've earned a forgiveness that was already given.

Well, that's it :D

This is just my thoughts and perception of the chapter, so maybe I read into some things wrong, but I just wanted to share how I view things.

Awesome work <3, loved the chapter :D

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Rubies - Hangover

drunk delta makes an appearance

alt title: DIFFICULT AT PARTIES

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, rocky recovery, past trauma, alcohol, flashbacks, guilt, begging)

“Do you wanna come out with me tonight?” Kitty asked. She was only half visible within the shared bathroom, but she popped her head out to see if he’d answer. Delta looked up from his laptop. He was up on the top bunk, a couple pillows propped up behind him to shield his spine from the wall. His typing ceased.

“…Do you want me to?” he asked.

He had refused the first time, then the time after that. His associations with the word party had been less than positive. What he thought of first was thick smoke and deafening music. What he thought of next was clean yellow floors and the unbearable sense that everyone in that room would steal him away if they had half a chance. He’d had to bite back his own sense of betrayal when she’d asked. He was so sick of being arm candy, just a toy to be shown off or a silent threat to levy.

He hadn’t told her that was why. After a few hours, he had rationalized that that was not why she had invited him to go. But he’d still said no, once he was certain he was allowed to.

He could’ve said no again. But he knew there was a reason she kept asking — she wanted it. There was so little he could offer her in return for what she’d done for him. He could do this, if she really wanted him to.

He was curious, after all.

~

“House partyyyyyyy,” Kitty told him in the car. “My friend Nora’s house. She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he begged.

“I won’t!” She wrapped her hand around his own. “Prommy.”

“Prommy?”

“Different way of saying promise.”

“Okay.”

She pushed the door open, not releasing his hand as she stepped out into the street. He followed her, keeping close. He liked the way the wet asphalt reflected the street lights. It was still strange to be out so late. He’d so rarely been given the chance to before — and certainly not in places like this. 

They walked up the rusted stairs of the fire escape. Other people were already crowded in the cage-like structure of the entryway. They blew smoke out through the bars, letting it dissipate into the cold night air. Kitty squeezed in between them. Delta tracked behind— nervous, but less so when he had a target to follow. 

Inside, it was about as loud as he’d expected it it to be. His eyes traced over the bright purple lights cast up against the white-washed walls, the less than enthused but still rhythmic motion of bodies. They were all silhouettes. He took an effort to make out their faces, but it was a half-hearted one. His attention was still drawn back to Kitty, who seemed to have found her friend.

Despite being the ostensible host, Nora did not seem particularly interested in hosting. She sat back against what looked to be a fainting couch, with a few other students scattered around her in a semi-circle. She waved lazily as Kitty approached, but leaned forward into the hug she was met with. Kitty chirped happily before bouncing back to Delta’s side, looping one arm through his own.

“This is Delta. He just joined.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. These people weren’t in Galatea, but they’d know what she meant when she said it.

“Cute,” Nora said in low approval. 

He blushed a bit, hiding further behind Kitty, following her as she moved to sit. He still got the overpowering urge to kneel at her feet. It still felt intensely inappropriate for him to be sitting beside her, to be at any of their levels. Even as he did, he felt nervous that they might kick him back down onto the floor. He wouldn’t have even protested. Sometimes the pain was not half as bad as the suspense. 

It didn’t happen. He sat at her side anyway, reflexively pulling his legs up, curling up slightly. He listened idly to their conversation, what little he could make out over the music. It was…nice. He liked the way people spoke outside of Empire. He hadn’t realized that people weren’t always mean. It felt like he was living in a parallel reality sometimes.

They tried to include him in the conversation. It was an effort he appreciated, but not one he really responded to. His voice got caught when he tried.

“You’re in Intel too?” Nora asked him.

“Yes, miss.” He nodded. Kitty had told him he didn’t need to use the honorific anymore, but she hadn’t said he needed to drop it. It was hard to break the habit.

“How’d you get into that?” She smiled — and he saw that she had fangs too.

He shrugged. He was okay at it.

There wasn’t much he was allowed to talk about — and even fewer that he was inclined to. Levon had given him explicit orders not to mention his powers. That was technically his only restriction. But when so much of his life had traced back to it, he found himself more prone to mutism than ever. He hadn’t thought of a good cover story yet.

“Can I go?” he whispered to Kitty.

“You wanna leave?” Her eyes widened. “We can.”

He shook his head. “Just wanna walk around.”

“No prob.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Thank you.”

He drifted away from them, without any real direction. There were a lot of rooms in the apartment, far more than he would’ve expected there to be. 

The alcohol lay unguarded within the busy kitchen. 

Nobody stopped him. He’d been expecting someone to, really. He guessed he was always waiting for someone to yell at him, to cut him off. This was a time honored tradition in his life. 

One of the boys of the half-circle had followed him, much to his surprise. He poured himself a drink, then one more for Delta, though he hadn’t yet finished the first. Delta swore the music was getting louder, because he didn’t hear any of the words that came out when the boy moved his lips, but he nodded as though he understood.

The boy moved over to the kitchen table and he found himself following him.

~

He was too drunk. He knew he was drunk and it felt dangerous, uncomfortable and ominous. There was a soft nausea forming in him. He watched the lights dance as if they might send him a message. The music was loud enough to be painful, but he could still hear the braindead chatter all around him. He’d been guided and abandoned, time and time again. 

He liked the new girl the least. 

“Like, I know,” she complained to the table. “It’s not like I’m fucking dumb.”

Both her hands flew up in frustration. She was even drunker than he was, but she seemed more adept at handling it. He got the sense she was like this even when she was sober.

“I just wish they weren’t so fucking nosy, you know? They’re such helicopter parents, I feel like I can��t even go anywhere without them telling me I’m gonna get chopped up. I’m a fucking adult!”

“At least you have parents,” Delta muttered.

He was vaguely aware of everything that quieted in the space around him after he had said it, but he could not be bothered to care.

“Oh,” she said. 

His eyes practically glazed over as he dug himself in deeper, deliberately.

“No, I think it’s like. Reallllly cool. That you got to have that experience. It’s really awesome that had parents that loved you. And that you were allowed to develop as a person. I can see you really made the best of that opportunity.”

He cracked a small smile. It was such a bitchy thing to say. He didn’t know where the impulse came from, but he wanted to indulge it. As a treat, sometimes. 

Her eyes widened with surprise, some mock-up of offense. For some reason, this annoyed him.

“You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. Do you even hear yourself? You have no idea what it’s like. People are living in war zones right now and they don’t complain as much as you do.”

I never complained as much as you do.

It wasn’t fair.

~

Even from across the room, Kitty could hear Delta’s voice rising in agitation. She was shocked he was speaking at all. Loud or agitated were not qualities she would have ever expected in his voice. It set her on edge immediately.

She crossed the room to find him gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squinted in disgust. She caught only the tail end of it, but was surprised to hear just how much venomwas in his tone. She’d never heard it from him. It was so hateful.

“Delta,” she whispered, gripping at his elbow, “C’mere.”

It wasn’t that she meant to pull him around. She didn’t want to. But as she studied the faces of the people gathered around him, it was clear things were turning hostile. He was too fresh for it. She had to get him out.

He dead ignored her, still focused in on the completely one-sided argument he’d engaged himself in. It was only once she’d pulled him a good five feet away from the scene that he seemed to even realize he was moving. He rounded on her in frustration.

“Whaaaaaat?” He hissed. “I said it was cool. I think it is fucking awesome.”

“C’mon,” she nudged him out the doorway, out into the hall. He spun around, ripping himself free of her grasp. None of the disgust or the anger left his expression.

“What? You’re gonna hit me for it?” He challenged. “You hit me for everything, it doesn’t even matter what I do. I don’t care. I don’t even care.”

Kitty frowned. He wasn’t even talking to her anymore. She didn’t know where he had gone in his mind, but she knew it was miles away from the party: She felt a pang of guilt. She’d just wanted to try taking him out. It wasn’t even a crazy party. But it’d been too early. At some point, he’d gotten dead drunk, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Delta.” Her tone was more pleading now, less irate. He didn’t respond to it either way. He wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He snapped, then seemed to trip over himself. He braced his back against the wall for support as his hands fumbled by his waistband. He struggled with it. She realized with a start that he was attempting to peel his shirt off — though he was getting visibly frustrated with how little success he was having. 

“Stop.” She said as she slid both her hands over his wrists. She knew she was stronger than him. His own fingers unhooked from the fabric of his shirt, going still.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “Everyone else can do whatever they want. No one ever corrects them. No one cares if they hurt me. But the second I say anything back-“

The speech giving way to a frustrated growl. He’d cut himself off, then tore his wrists free. She let him go. He moved both hands to cover his face.

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I didn’t do anything.”

~

The place he woke up in was warm. His eyes fluttered open to find soft morning light shining onto the pink comforter. It was bunched up around his face. He’d nestled himself protectively beneath it. It wasn’t his bed, though. 

It was the closest thing to it. He was on the lower bunk, which was Kitty’s section, and he slowly realized it was because she probably couldn’t get him up the ladder last night.

Dread descended on him wraithlike and frigid. He blinked a few more times, unmoving. He did not know how long he stayed like that. After years of being denied adequate rest, he was reluctant to give it up for anything. And no one ever forced him awake here. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his skull - it laid there dormant, menacing. It only erupted into real pain as the door opened and he shot upright in response.

Kitty closed the door gingerly behind her. Her tail curled low beneath her legs and all her limbs hung with neither tension or enthusiasm. Her face was marked with a visible displeasure. Though he’d seen it on her before, he knew it was different this time. It was purely his own doing.

He was on the floor in an instant. The sudden motion caused his stomach to lurch. More vividly, all the colors flashed behind his eyes at once as the migraine aura engulfed his vision. It was a biting pain. Each motion was dizzying, but not enough to destabilize him. He’d been trained better.

“I’m so sorry, Kitty. I’m so sorry.”

Maybe not that well-trained. His nails dug into the flesh of his thighs in a desperation motion. He was talking over her. He was speaking without permission, which he was not supposed to do if he was apologizing. He had learned to let the body language speak for itself since he wasn’t truly allowed to beg. He’d learned it well. Nobody could’ve denied that as he bent his head forward, kneeling down on the floor. But he had to say something to her aloud. He meant it.

She stood in front of him and something truly awful was conjured up in his memory, his own nausea intensifying tenfold just the same as his shame. He couldn’t look at her. Before, when he tilted his head down, his hair would’ve obscured his vision like curtains. It’d been a kind of shelter, even if all its protection was imagined. Here, even in the soft, warm light, he still felt exposed. There was no hiding from it.

“C’mon,” she said softly, “you don’t have to beg.”

There was no chance of that. Not after what had happened. Delta couldn’t bring himself to unfold from the kneel. Through the fabric of his pants, his nails scraped close to drawing blood. He was so sorry. He’d fucked up so bad.

Kitty lowered herself to her ground — and the shock of her presence alone was enough to rouse him. He glanced up nervously, though kept his chin tucked close to his chest, his body still recoiling in anticipation of a slap. It was the absolute least he deserved. He didn’t have the right to cringe away from it. 

But she didn’t touch him. He could tell she wanted to — it was weird for her not to — but she was holding herself back. Her eyes searched him instead.

“How are you feeling?” She looked him over again, as though she might be able to see the migraine aura for herself if she stared long enough. “Your head okay? Are you hungover?”

He was, badly. Without meaning to, his hands slid out of his lap and up along his arms, wrapped protectively around himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

“Okay. What are you sorry for?”

He winced. It was a familiar question. He answered immediately.

“I was disrespectful.” The safest option, always, the most broadly applicable. “To you. To everyone. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“ -I’m not allowed to- “—talked to you like that.”

She sighed. His heart sunk to see she was not pleased with that answer.

“C’mere.”

Again, the words were familiar. But the action was not. She pressed one hand to the nape of his neck, gently pulling him closer. To his surprise, he let her. He pressed his head into her shoulder. The scene of smoke and liquor had been washed away, replaced with lye and jasmine. She was still being careful with him. Nothing hurt.

“You were being kind of an asshole.” She said as she stroked his hair back. “But I’m not mad at you, okay? You’re not in trouble. Do you get that?”

He believed her, if that was what she meant. He trusted she wouldn’t hurt him. Even if she should have. Even if he had without a doubt earned it this time. He nodded slowly, without removing himself from the embrace. She kissed the crown of his head.

He only got up when she encouraged him to, ushering him back onto the mattress instead of on the carpet. He only did it because she told him to. He didn’t feel right about it. It didn’t feel fair. There was little he could do to ward the guilt from his demeanor. His own body language had turned sulky, the way it did when he’d been punished, or when he expected to be. 

Kitty seemed to cultivate a deliberate form of inattentiveness. She was still going through the room, straightening up, not looking directly at him anymore. He waited, sensing there was more. He was right. After a while, she added:

“I wish that wasn’t the first time you talked about it.”

Was that what she wanted as conciliation? For him to talk about it?

He didn’t like to. He tried hard not to think about it at all — even though it always burned in his brain. Even if he thought of it every night. He still went mute at each opportunity.

But he’d speak if she wanted him to. If he owed it to her, which he knew he did.

“Um. Last time-“ He hesitated a lot. “-Last time I got too drunk, I got really hungover. And I was. Um.”

He lowered his voice. The tone was becoming progressively less certain. It was harder than he expected.

“I got whipped for it,” he managed, “Until I bled. I wasn’t allowed to. Uh. Sleep. Or eat or anything. Just had to stand there, like, on display. Just to show I’d been punished. Or that I was being punished. Whatever.”

He didn’t realize it until he said it, but he was offering her ideas. If you wanted to… hung just by the tip of his tongue. If you wanted me to…

But she did not accept the invitation. She just looked sad. She crossed the distance between them — he still flinched — just to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I don’t know how anyone could ever hurt you,” she said. She sounded like she meant it, too. He shook his head.

It was arguably one of the more justified punishments he’d be given. He really had talked back in an awful way; he didn’t resent Paris for it. The opposite, really. That was why it had hurt so badly at the time, the same reason it hurt so bad now. He was sorry. He’d deserved it. 

“Drink,” she said, pressing the water bottle into his hands. He nodded obliging, not realizing how badly he needed it until he drank.

He’d never be grateful enough.

“You’re really not going to hit me?” he asked quietly. There was no real surprise in that question anymore; he didn’t expect it from her. It was guilt alone that informed it.

He didn’t even need to be hit. He’d have done anything. Starved. Held still, let himself be chained until his muscles ached. But she wasn’t even yelling. He’d upset her again with the question, but she wasn’t punishing him for it. He felt a strange sense of absence. She did not let him dwell on it.

“Never,” she promised, “We’re gonna go get pho - helps with the hangover. You can come along if you want. If you wanna sleep it off, that’s cool too.”

He pulled his legs up onto the bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. His head felt empty, but raw and stinging about its hollow edges. He took another sip of water.

“Can I come? Please?”

“Yea! Yeah.” She grinned, tousling his hair. “Yeah, I’ve never taken you there before. You’re gonna love it.”

~

The place was small, but not cramped. Large windows let the morning light stream in the same easy way he’d now grown to expect from this planet. He found it a comfort now. The sun would always rise.

Laminated menus laid flat atop the plastic table. He let Kitty order for him, because it was all written in a language he couldn’t read, and because it felt nice to give up control to her. He trusted her enough for that.

He’d been surprised to learn that the we in question had been Kitty and Nora. Nora sat across the table from either of them, shifting the small spheres within her purple drink, eyes red with exhaustion. But if she held any resentment for the night before, she didn’t show it. She didn’t look upset to see him.

Delta drank the tea Kitty had suggested for him and found that he was right to trust her on it. It was sweeter than he was used to, but not unpleasant. It was a soft color. The caffeine in it eased the edge of his headache. His head felt clearer and cleaner the longer he stayed.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he said timidly to Nora. He felt a new shame about his own reticence, aware now that it only appeared as a cover for a secret ugliness in him. He’d proven it to her. He didn’t expect her to forgive it.

“Oh, yeah,” Nora barely looked up. “You’re good. Worse things have happened at my parties.”

He blinked. Was that it? He’d been prepared to get onto the floor and grovel for it, but she’d given it like it was nothing. Delta glanced sideways at Kitty for confirmation. She squeezed lightly at his arm in reassurance. 

The soup came out shortly after. The broth was clear and aromatic. He poked at it idly, still self conscious about his own feeding, his mind still fixated on denial and absolution. But Kitty looked sad when he did not eat and even Nora seemed to raise an eyebrow in concern, so that he had no choice but to indulge them. 

He was glad that he did, though. It was warm and saltier than he had expected, which he appreciated. The headache ebbed away even further and the raw tension in his stomach began to fade. He was grateful. 

He hoped she knew that.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[sir-fenris]

If I may add :)

Vampires may have very different view in how to do that, right? :)))

• Vampires that love the taste of adrenaline because it makes them feel thrilled.

• Vampires who hate adrenaline's taste, so they make sure Whumpee is very calm, even if it takes knocking them out or put them under a spell.

• Vampires that want an alcoholic drink, so they get Whumpee drunk to drink their blood.

• or Vampires that make sure Whumpee can never drink anything with alcohol or other stuff (depending in their personal taste), because they don't like the taste.

• Vampires who make sure Whumpee is healthy, so the blood stays healthy, too. Mandatory exercises, and healthy diet, and healthy activities, etc, even when Whumpee doesn't like doing those things.

• Vampires that like running blood, a fast drink, and make Whumpee run before each blood meal.

• Vampires who hate tainted blood so badly that they keep Whumpee locked in one single room, following a rigorous routine that doesn't give space to somehow taint the blood.

• Maybe Vampires who hate the taste of bad feelings (such as anger or sadness), so they pamper and spoil their Whumpee to keep them happy.

• And if Vampires want a taste that can't be naturally produced easily? So Whumpee needs to be injected with some specific liquid in their blood every day, or every time the Vampire wants to drink.

• Or maybe they don't really care much about the taste of Whumpee at all, because they take their blood and do manual drinks with them, drinking from a cup. So the natural taste of the blood doesn't matter much. They can alter the taste.

And more. What if Whumpee decided to taint their blood in defiance?

• Poisoning themselves, lethal poison or not, not caring if it'll hurt/kill them too, just to take Vampire down with them.

• Going against routine or healthy mandatory things (like exercises and specific diet).

• Starving themselves to make the blood poor.

• Drinking alcohol hidden, so Vampire will also get drunk without knowing.

• Whumpee resisting being pampered and spoiled, just to keep their blood sour with anger.

• Or Whumpee taking advantage that Vampire likes their blood when they're happy, asking for many things all the time, loving being spoiled.

-

a bloodbag whumpee who's needs are taken care of. The vampire will do anything to make sure the taste of whumpee's blood is not tainted

[sir-fenris]

Other Words for "Look" + With meanings | List for writers

Many people create lists of synonyms for the word 'said,' but what about the word 'look'? Here are some synonyms that I enjoy using in my writing, along with their meanings for your reference. While all these words relate to 'look,' they each carry distinct meanings and nuances, so I thought it would be helpful to provide meanings for each one.

Gaze - To look steadily and intently, especially in admiration or thought.

Glance - A brief or hurried look.

Peek - A quick and typically secretive look.

Peer - To look with difficulty or concentration.

Scan - To look over quickly but thoroughly.

Observe - To watch carefully and attentively.

Inspect - To look at closely in order to assess condition or quality.

Stare - To look fixedly or vacantly at someone or something.

Glimpse - To see or perceive briefly or partially.

Eye - To look or stare at intently.

Peruse - To read or examine something with great care.

Scrutinize - To examine or inspect closely and thoroughly.

Behold - To see or observe a thing or person, especially a remarkable one.

Witness - To see something happen, typically a significant event.

Spot - To see, notice, or recognize someone or something.

Contemplate - To look thoughtfully for a long time at.

Sight - To suddenly or unexpectedly see something or someone.

Ogle - To stare at in a lecherous manner.

Leer - To look or gaze in an unpleasant, malicious way.

Gawk - To stare openly and stupidly.

Gape - To stare with one's mouth open wide, in amazement.

Squint - To look with eyes partially closed.

Regard - To consider or think of in a specified way.

Admire - To regard with pleasure, wonder, and approval.

Skim - To look through quickly to gain superficial knowledge.

Reconnoiter - To make a military observation of a region.

Flick - To look or move the eyes quickly.

Rake - To look through something rapidly and unsystematically.

Glare - To look angrily or fiercely.

Peep - To look quickly and secretly through an opening.

Focus - To concentrate one's visual effort on.

Discover - To find or realize something not clear before.

Spot-check - To examine something briefly or at random.

Devour - To look over with eager enthusiasm.

Examine - To inspect in detail to determine condition.

Feast one's eyes - To look at something with great enjoyment.

Catch sight of - To suddenly or unexpectedly see.

Clap eyes on - To suddenly see someone or something.

Set eyes on - To look at, especially for the first time.

Take a dekko - Colloquial for taking a look.

Leer at - To look or gaze in a suggestive manner.

Rubberneck - To stare at something in a foolish way.

Make out - To manage to see or read with difficulty.

Lay eyes on - To see or look at.

Pore over - To look at or read something intently.

Ogle at - To look at in a lecherous or predatory way.

Pry - To look or inquire into something in a determined manner.

Dart - To look quickly or furtively.

Drink in - To look at with great enjoyment or fascination.

Bask in - To look at or enjoy something for a period of time.

[sir-fenris]

I want whump friends!!! Reblog if you wanna talk about whump stuff and OCS and share ideas and favorite tropes, feel free to dm with whump OC talk and whump ideas out of nowhere! Honestly I'd really appreciate some human interaction in my life :)

[sir-fenris]

How to show emotions

Part IV

How to show bitterness

tightness around their eyes

pinched mouth

sour expression on their face

crossed arms

snorting angrily

turning their eyes upward

shaking their head

How to show hysteria

fast breathing

chest heaving

trembling of their hands

weak knees, giving in

tears flowing down their face uncontrollably

laughing while crying

not being able to stand still

How to show awe

tension leaving their body

shoulders dropping

standing still

opening mouth

slack jaw

not being able to speak correctly

slowed down breathing

wide eyes open

softening their gaze

staring unabashingly

How to show shame

vacant stare

looking down

turning their head away

cannot look at another person

putting their head into their hands

shaking their head

How to show being flustered

blushing

looking down

nervous smile

sharp intake of breath

quickening of breath

blinking rapidly

breaking eye contact

trying to busy their hands

playing with their hair

fidgeting with their fingers

opening mouth without speaking

Part I + Part II + Part III + Part V

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[sir-fenris]

you know what trope drives me absolutely feral? Repetition. Just :

"Hey, hey, it's okay"

"Shh, you're safe, you're safe, it's alright "

"Look at me. Hey, look at me"

"Stay with me. Come on, just stay with me"

"It's over. It's over now."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"

"I'm here. I'm right here"

[sir-fenris]

Playing with the pet - pet whump prompt

I was thinking about how when I was a child - and still now, to be honest ☺️ - when I visited people with pets I always wanted to play with and hang out with their pets and how that was the best part of the visit for me.

What about this, but with pet whump?

There’s often stories about guests borrowing pets to treat them badly, but I don’t often see stories of guests being nice to the pets. (Could still be really dehumanising.)

What about a starving whumpee being hand fed by their owner’s guest? The owner looking on with amusement. ‘You are really spoiling them, you know.’

What about a neglected whumpee being pet and praised and cuddled by their owner’s guests? Someone finally seeing the pet and paying it attention?

What about visiting children playing games with the whumpee? Maybe nice games, or maybe the kids are too small to understand that they are hurting their pet friend?

A guest taking whumpee for a walk - and whumpee usually never even gets to go outside?

A guest noticing whumpee being hurt, and insisting they get medical care?

A whumpee lying with their head in the guest’s lap while they pet their hair and instantly falling asleep. The guest being delighted at the sweet pet and not knowing that this is the first proper rest the pet has got for a good while.

A whumpee proudly showing off their best tricks with guests as a delighted audience.

“He/she really likes you.” Said by owner to guest about whumpee.

A shy or introverted guest sneaking away from a party in full swing to instead hang out with the household pet.

Feel free to add more! And if you use the prompts or already have a post like this, I’d love it if you tagged me! ❤️

I tried to write a post like this, but I want more! My attempt at Playing with the pet can be found here.

[sir-fenris]

This is an offering. Limbo Gods, please let me sleep now, my eyes burn.

Based on @paingoes 's information on their character's food taste, I made him a small meal <3. Hope he likes it.

(Fanart of Delta's... food? from Destroyer)

Herbal tea, a poke bowl with fish, papaya and edamame, and a tray of raw fish. Freshly made, too. (Post reference 1, Post reference 2)

(What is the tea of, what other stuff there is in the poke bowl, what goes with the tray of fish? Shush, don't ask difficult questions, I was barely awake half of this)

(Please forgive any typo in the text or mistake in the art)

-

And just a fun fact. I was drawing a whump art, completely unrelated to Destroyer, and I just. Couldn’t. Draw. And my mind was like, "remember that ask about the foods?" and then I also couldn't sleep. So yeah. This is the product of my mind just deciding that I can't draw anything other than Destroyer's fanart, and that I'll be unable to sleep until I draw when an idea pops up on my head.

:') mission completed. I'll sleep now.

-

[sir-fenris]

Here's why fiction about survivors is okay, good and necessary:

Because I'm feeling defensive today. Written to be easier for anyone outside the whump community to understand.

Content: whump meta, talking about abuse and survivors, ptsd, comparing to other genres

It's not real

It makes us happy

It's not that wierd--fictional suffering is everywhere, we just condensed it for convenience

Survivors deserve to be represented--even the people that have experienced real-life torture. Claiming it's "too extreme" and "inappropriate" is like saying my life experience is something to be ashamed of.

Other genres can actually harm survivors by watering down their "torture" scenes, making it funny, etc. That gives the impression that this other stuff (you know, the stuff you read in history books and whump tags) doesn't happen. There's a big gaping hole of realism that survivor fiction fills.

You don't have to be a trauma/abuse survivor to like fiction about survivors --pretty much everyone likes to see a character put through dire/destructive situations. It's "story conflict" but × 100.

Survivor fiction provides a neutral perspective on abusive situations that are normally heavily opinionated discussions, so you have space to make up your own mind about it.

This genre actually often focuses in on the victim's will, courage, resilience, beauty, innocence, love, and a bunch of other beautiful things that shine even brighter in the face of darkness.

And watching those things be apparently stamped out--any other genre would see this character as too broken to fit. Here, though, we are all rooting for whumpee! This is a powerful message we are sending: NOBODY is too broken to be a precious human being that deserves to be loved and cared for.

This genre helps to process emotions that are generally frowned upon to even have, such as feeling crushed, humiliated, ashamed, vengeful, vulnerable, manipulated, destroyed, enslaved, helpless, desperate. Other genres barely touch these.

In the same vein, whump fiction can do a much better job of explaining how people end up submissive, intolerant, or manipulated into helping their abuser, or other things that real-life survivors are shamed for--and why it was often the only thing they could do to survive.

Survivor fiction makes better villains. I know of no other genre where making a villain hurt people because they are a sadist is really accepted. But sadism is widespread--otherwise, why do people choose to hurt someone for what they could work for? It's work either way, unless they enjoy it.

The best thing survivor fiction does is FIGHT SHAME. The mercy, the part where the victim is cared for, is the antidote to shame. Fighting shame is what I'm here to do.

[sir-fenris]

64

inspo by @justbreakonme

[tw dehumanisation, intimate whumper]

“I bought you to enjoy you. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy being cruel towards you.”

Whumpee’s chin was guided up by two gentle fingers, and his eyes met Whumper’s for only a moment.

“You’re a toy. Not a punching bag.”

Well, that was certainly a step up. Right? It had to be. Being used in any way wasn’t ideal, but if Whumpee didn’t have to spend the rest of his miserable days in pain, that was a win.

“And what do you enjoy doing to your toys, sir?” he asked, emboldened by Whumper’s words.

Whumper flashed him a crooked smile. “Oh, this and that.” He trailed his fingers up from Whumpee’s chin to his hair, idly twirling a strand of it. “Enjoy some quiet night-ins, maybe even some night-outs. A couple gatherings to show you off.”

“And what does a quiet night-in look like?” he pressed.

“I got myself a curious one, huh? Let’s see… Maybe some cuddling on the sofa while I read a good book. Or maybe some dancing in the living room. I might even share some good wine with you to help loosen you up.”

Whumpee swallowed. That all sounded benign enough, if only the thought of being touched like this constantly didn’t make him want to throw up. Maybe being a punching bag would’ve been better.

“I see,” he said as neutrally as possible. Whumper wasn’t fooled.

“You might not like it,” he went on, still playing with Whumpee’s hair. “But a toy doesn’t get a say in how it will be played with. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

[sir-fenris]

Reblog for a whump-themed Christmas Card in your inbox

Hello friends!

It's that time of the year again! I have once again made a whumpy christmas card for my friends and am extending the offer here too <3

On the 25th everyone who reblogs will receive a whumpmas card in their inbox (please have askbox open and allow asks/submissions with media!!!).

Happy holidays everyone!!!

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 15

Broken Glass

Content: good caretaker, recovery whump, fear of starvation, quick mention of eating glass, blood, domestic comfort, domestic whump, self-deprecation, dissociation, kind of unreliable narrator.

Catetaker had told him not to touch kitchen stuff. They had said that this house didn't go by the rules Whumpee was used to. Caretaker didn't need Whumpee at all, so the least he could do is stay out of the way.

And yet, Whumpee was disobedient and tried to get his own plate instead of waiting at the table until Caretaker was done bringing dinner stuff to it. They must have known this would happen, must have known Whumpee was so useless and clumsy that he couldn't even hold a plate.

When the sound of breaking glass hits Whumpee's ears, the sound of him falling to his knees hits Caretaker's.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Whumpee was getting all the wasted food and glass into a small pile. He tries to keep the glass parts more on the outer sides, so when Caretaker forces him to eat it, he can avoid the glass for some time and at least enjoy the food-

"-pee! Hey! Listen to me, stop!" Caretaker's voice finally rings in Whumpee ears, and he freezes. He can feel his cheeks wet.

Caretaker's hands come in view, ignoring Whumpee's flinch to reach his hands and carefully take them away from the glass. His hands already had bloody cuts.

"It's alright," Caretaker said calmer, trying to nudge Whumpee away from the broken glass. "Let's clean this hand, hm? Can we do that?"

They had that voice of when Whumpee is feeling numb and weird. He wasn't feeling that much numbness today, he could speak.

His mouth didn't move to answer. Perhaps he wasn't ready to speak. Whumpee just nods shakily instead.

Caretaker guides them to the laundry's sink and washes his hand for him, then gets small band-aids when the blood keeps coming back. Whumpee knows hands bleed a lot. Whumper used to get mad when Whumpee dirtied their kitchen with blood.

Was Caretaker mad because of it? Whumpee could never read them, so he didn't know what punishment they would carry out for this. Perhaps they wouldn't make him eat from the ground, like Whumper. Would they starve Whumpee? What punishment would suit disobeying them, breaking a plate, and wasting food?

"...-back. Take your time, you're safe, everything's okay." Oh, was Caretaker speaking to them? Their voice sounded a bit far.

Was he sitting? When did they leave the laundry?

"Hey, there," Caretaker whispers with a sad smile when their eyes meet. "You're back with me, buddy?"

Whumpee nods, though he still feels floaty and wrong. Was he... on the couch?

"It's okay, you're safe," Caretaker repeats and adjusts the blanket around Whumpee-

Blanket? Where did that come from?

For how long was he out this time?

"I'm sorry," Whumpee whispers, almost with no sound. His hands were tingling, all the way up to his elbows, and he registers how his body feels heavy now.

Caretaker just shake their head. "There's nothing to apologize for." They pause, looking for something in Whumpee's expression. "Are you still hungry? I can bring your food here if you prefer eating on the couch. Watching that TV show you enjoyed yesterday, maybe?"

"... Food?" He could eat, then? On the couch? Watching TV? Why was he being rewarded after messing up?

"Yeah. We got pasta, roasted chicken, and some veggies today. There's boiled eggs if you want some, too." Whumpee knew that, he dropped that food, he saw the pasta staining the floor. Caretaker must have seen something in his face, because they speak up again, gently. "Whumpee, you get to eat another full, new dish. I'll throw away the food that fell, it's alright."

"I can eat it, you made it for me," Whumpee whispers, not able to look Caretaker in the eyes.

"The floor is dirty. You shouldn't eat something that fell on it. I made plenty of food, not just that dish. I can get you another, there's no problem." Caretaker smiles, shifting the weight of their crouching legs. "Do you want the food here on the couch?"

Whumpee doesn't know how to answer. Caretaker was so, so different from all he knew. It was too hard to read what they wanted from him. So Whumpee just nodded, hoping that was the right thing to do.

Caretaker's face didn't change, didn't give him the green light that it was the right answer, but they didn't seem angry either. "Alright, I'll bring it here. You can put the TV show when you want, okay? I'll take a few minutes."

Once Caretaker goes back to the kitchen, Whumpee realizes his body is all okay again. Nothing tingles or feels heavy, nor his mind feels floaty. It still takes a while for him to reach for the remote and turn on the TV, but he's not feeling bad, or "anxious", as Caretaker calls it.

For some reason, the voice that always screams "danger" is quiet. Whumpee knows it'll come back soon enough.

But for now, he can believe nothing bad will happen, because Caretaker always promises they'll never hurt him. Because they never broke that promise.

Even when Whumpee broke their rules, wasted their food and broke their plate.

For the first time since the rescue, the tears in his eyes aren't sad ones.

-

[sir-fenris]

Anyone have tips for writing dissociation? There's lots of resources for how to properly, gently help people who are dissociating which is all well and good, but you know, not all my characters are going to take the time and be concerned, not everyone want to actually help. I see some fics where whumper snaps them out of it by hurting them, could that actually work or will it just drive them further away?